


Tango Victor Sierra Mike

by OnlySkyAboveMe



Series: Dance the skies (on laughter-silvered wings) [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Pilots, Pilots!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 13:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18801715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlySkyAboveMe/pseuds/OnlySkyAboveMe
Summary: That Tessa and Scott as pilots AU I was inspired to write back in February





	Tango Victor Sierra Mike

**Author's Note:**

> This starts at ‘today’ and all subsequent dates are from that day, not from each other… I hope that makes sense?
> 
> I know very little about the aviation industry, and I felt I could only do so much googling before I got flagged for a stream of questionable searches. If you do know a lot about the industry, I apologise for errors. Whatever the case, I guess suspend your belief a little!
> 
> Thanks to Tara, Jules and Theresa for their support and encouragement, and to Tara and iwantthemtostay for the beta reading. There really are some fabulous people in this fandom. Love you guys xx

~§§§~

_Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,_

_And danced the skies_ _on laughter-silvered wings_  

 ~§~

 

_Today_

It really isn’t a good first impression.

He skids into the pilots’ lounge, pulling his carry-on haphazardly behind him, tipping it off its wheels so the black polyester scuffs across the tiled flooring. The hot lemon water he’s holding in his hand sloshes around in his bamboo travel mug. He hisses in pain as some of the scalding liquid seeps around the edge of the hastily pressed-on lid and drips down onto his fingers. He makes a beeline to the nearest available surface and puts the cup down before drying his fingers on the leg of his trousers.

The pointed clearing of a throat has him looking up to meet the shockingly green eyes of the table’s occupant and he swears his heart stops for a moment. She is dressed in a pilot’s uniform and has four stripes on her epaulettes; it doesn’t take him long to realise that this is his captain for the flight today.

And that she’s the most beautiful person he has ever seen in his life.

“Hi,” he says. “You must be Tessa, I’m Scott.” He extends his now dry hand, though her responding look of disgust and the slow rise of one of her dark, shapely eyebrows has him withdrawing it quickly.

“You’re late,” she says, sharply. “And where’s your hat?”

“My hat?” His voice squeaks in the most embarrassing way, and he swiftly attempts to disguise the noise with a small cough.

“Your hat, First Officer Moir,” she says. “It’s part of your uniform.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s in my bag.”

“You’re supposed to wear it at all times inside the airport.”

“No one does though,” he tries to reason.  She folds her arms, unimpressed, and raises her eyes towards the hat on her own head, which is in perfect condition.  He feels self-conscious about his own, which has somehow started to fray around the edges, despite it only being a few months since he was issued it. “I took it off at security, okay? Then I realised I was going to be late, so I had to dash, and I didn’t want it flying off my head.”

She doesn’t respond to this, just pushes out the other chair at the table and indicates for him to sit in it. “Have you reviewed the flight plan?”

He sits down heavily and takes the iPad from her, his excitement from this morning of being paired with a new captain and working a new route diminishing with each passing minute. He hopes the four hour flight will thaw her out and he can make up for his poor first impression, but he’s not feeling particularly optimistic.

When they arrive a short while later at their allocated briefing room, the cabin crew are already assembled and waiting for them, most of them holding Tim Hortons coffee cups and chatting amicably amongst themselves. The entire crew is female, except for a tall, dark-haired man who Scott recognises from a couple of flights in his early days at Air Canada, his badge and tie identify him as the cabin manager. As they take their seats around the table, he notices him surreptitiously slide a coffee cup in front of the Captain, which she acknowledges with a subtle nod of thanks and the barest of smiles.

When she clears her throat to begin the meeting, he becomes aware that his right hand is balled in a fist in his lap.

**

“Afternoon, Captain,” comes a voice from behind them and they turn in their seats in the flight deck.

“Luis!” she cries, and she jumps to her feet and hugs the ground handling agent tightly. “How was your honeymoon? Is it still a honeymoon when you take it on your first anniversary?”

“Of course! And it was fabulous,” replies Luis with a beaming smile. “Cadiz is just beautiful, and the Alhambra, it’s nothing like I’ve ever seen before. You must go, my darling.”

“I bet you wish you were still there right about now, eh?” Tessa says as she points out at the grey skies above Pearson.

Luis chuckles, “Sí, but Eric is playing Beethoven’s ‘Emperor’ with the Montreal Symphony Orchestra next month and we had to be back for rehearsals.”

“Oh, how fabulous, please do get me a ticket,” she says.

“Of course,” says Luis, a small twinkle in his eye. “You should definitely come along to this one. He won’t… I mean, we won’t…”

Tessa tilts her head at Luis, her eyes widening a little as it dawns on her what he’s trying to say.

“We’re both… taking some time off in a few months,” says Luis with an excited grin. Tessa brings her hand to her mouth.

“Oh my gosh, Luis. Is Claudia…?”

“15 weeks yesterday,” responds Luis, practically vibrating with happiness.

Tessa pulls him in for another tight hug. “I’m so happy for you both.”

“Thanks,” says Luis, his eyes now shining a little with tears. He glances towards Scott, as if he’s only just noticed his presence in the cockpit and then mutters to Tessa. “He’s new.”

“Yes, I know,” says Tessa, the hint of a sigh in her tone.

“Don’t eat him for breakfast.”

Tessa snorts, but then quickly schools her features back into something more professional. Scott stands then and holds his hand out to Luis.

“Scott Moir, First Officer.” They exchange a firm handshake. “It seems congratulations are in order?”

“Ah, yes. My husband and I… we… our surrogate is expecting our first child,” says Luis, a hint of caution present in his voice as he explains.

Scott smiles broadly and claps him on the shoulder. “Congratulations, man. That’s fantastic. When’s the baby due?”

They chat for a few minutes, Tessa slightly surprised by the easy conversation held between the two men, and even more so that it’s mostly about babies. She steals a quick glance at his left hand, but finds his finger bare of a ring. She looks at his eyes; they’re too alert for him to have kids at home. She knows, she’s watched all her siblings’ eyes go from bright, alert and shining to dark, heavy and tired (though joyously happy) as each one of her nieces and nephews arrived in the world.

She finds she cannot tear her gaze away from Scott as he and Luis continue their chatter (which she is mostly blocking out) instead taking in her new First Officer properly for the first time. He’s not a hugely tall man, perhaps only three or four inches taller than herself, his hazel eyes are young and kind, and he has lovely hair, it looks thick and soft and deliciously tuggable…

_No, Tessa, don’t go there._

She shakes herself out of it, hoping to goodness the burning she feels in her cheeks isn’t visible.

“...I’ll check with my sister-in-law and let you know?” he says.

“That would be great, thanks Scott.”

“Not a problem. I better get to it.” He makes his way back towards his seat and begins to pull his iPad, water bottle and notebook from his bag.

“I like this one,” Luis whispers to Tessa after placing a quick kiss on her cheek and wishing her a safe flight. “Maybe you should _buy_ him breakfast?” Tessa glances back at Scott, who is now hanging his hat and jacket inside the locker and lazily rolling up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, revealing toned forearms and a small tattoo on the inside of his right wrist.

Luis gives a small chuckle as she becomes distracted by her new first officer. He leans over and says in her ear, barely above a whisper, “Definitely buy him breakfast.”

Tessa opens her mouth to tell him to hush, but they are all interrupted.

“Captain?” The cabin manager appears in the doorway and three heads turn to him.

“Yes?”

“All passengers have boarded. We’re ready when you are.”

“Thanks, Andrew,” says Tessa and they watch him depart from the cockpit, the beep of the door eventually telling them they are secured into the space.

“Okay, Mr Moir,” she says, relishing the feeling of adrenaline coursing through her body, as it does every time she buckles into her seat and grasps the controls in front of her. “Let’s do this.”

**

“So, how long have you been a captain for?” he asks her once they’ve completed take-off, switched the seatbelt sign off, and he has addressed the passengers, handing over their care to the cabin crew.

“Three years,” she responds flatly, eyes not moving from where they focus on the controls and switches in the cockpit.

“Wow,” he exclaims, impressed. “You must be one of the youngest female captains in Canada?”

She shoots him a brief glare, her eyebrow raised again. “Yes, I’m one of the youngest _captains_ in Canada. Second youngest to reach the rank in fact.”

He gulps at her ferocity and defensiveness. “I didn’t-”

“You were a hockey player, in the minor leagues,” she says, tersely and he bristles at the way she says the word ‘minor’. “This may be a cockpit, but I do not tolerate ego and cockiness in here.”

_He really needs her to stop saying cock._

“Of course, I’m nothing but professional.” Scott says, holding his hands up in defence. She clicks her tongue and he returns them to the controls, despite the fact that the autopilot is very much in control. She nods her head – in, well he would call it approval, but he’s clearly quite far from eliciting that emotion from her – her tight bun remaining perfectly in place during the movement.

They sit in silence for a while, and Scott can’t stand it. Yes, an aeroplane is never silent, but he’s going to struggle if he can't speak for the remainder of the flight. His mother, father, and a every single teacher and coach who’s ever encountered him would be able to tell you that Scott Moir has never been particularly good at sitting quietly.

He wonders if he might be able to get her to loosen up a little. He’s a great pilot, or at least, that’s what he’s been told. He’s always had a good rapport with colleagues in the cockpit, and he and his previous captain at Porter shared many a laugh on flights together. He takes deep breath before he turns to her and asks, “Do you like word games?”

Her right eyebrow rises for what must be the twentieth time today, and Scott figures she’s either used to exercising those particular muscles in her face, or she’ll soon come down with cramp.

He decides to ignore her lack of response.

“Everyone’s heard of ‘word association’ but how about ‘anti-word association’?”

She just stares at him, incredulously.

“So, we take it in turn saying words, but they cannot be connected in any way. We can challenge when we think the words are connected and we have to explain why. It can be really funny, and it gives you a great insight into how people’s minds work.”

Still silence.

“I’ll start.”

He shifts in his seat, straightening himself up, conscious to keep his hands on the controls still. He nods his head at the panels in front of them, “Altimeter.”

She says nothing.

“I mean, you could really respond to anything there, just don’t say areo-”

“I think I’d rather you stopped talking, Mr Moir,” she says, tersely, hands gripping the controls a little tighter.

He swallows and looks down at his lap like a scolded child who’s just been told he can’t go outside at recess.

Oh yes, these four hours are going to fly by.

 

~§~

 

_Three Weeks Later_

Silence has never been so deafening to her.

Most probably because she really doesn’t count this as silence.

Scott Moir is an excellent pilot, she has to hand that to him. So far on every flight they have flown together, he has carried out his job faultlessly. He clearly does his reading and research, and he is up-to-date on everything he needs to know. He is friendly and polite to the ground staff and crew as he is getting to know the Pearson regulars, and beyond that first day his time-keeping has been exemplary.

And, despite him frequently shooting her sideways glances of vague confusion and, oftentimes, amusement, he seems to be doing his best to stay in her good books by obeying her cockpit rules.

Except for the silence. The man may think he’s being quiet, but he is drumming his fingers on his arm rest and humming what seems to be a Tragically Hip song under his breath; both of which are beyond annoying to her.

She didn’t use to be this way; she used to be as happy as the next pilot to have a good old chat over the course of a flight. But over time she came to find that what is said in the cockpit does not always stay in the cockpit, and when it leaves it has this funny way of getting twisted against her. Years of rumours and lies and broken trust as a first officer and then even as a captain meant that she eventually took the decision that every new first officer she worked with would have to adhere to her rules of silence except for official and necessary communication regarding the flight.

But right in this moment she wants to scream, his tapping having gotten faster as he reaches the chorus, head bobbing along too. She really, _really_ isn’t a fan of playing games in the cockpit - mainly because she’s so competitive she worries she’ll get distracted from the task at hand.

But she really can’t take this any more.

And she thinks she can trust him, is willing to give him the opportunity to gain her trust - something she does her best to make sure isn’t easy to come by.

“Okay!” she says loudly, and the dark-haired man next to her almost jumps out of his skin. “We can play a game. But only if you _please_ stop drumming your fingers.” She throws in a glare for good measure, making sure he knows she won’t tolerate it again, even if it does make her feel a bit mean.

His hands still immediately and he looks both guilty and a little confused, but then a boyish grin appears on his face when he fully registers she’s caving. He opens his mouth, clearly ready to launch into a barrage of excited ideas, but she cuts him off before he can say anything.

“Captain’s choice,” she says, firmly.

He nods, fast and excited like a toddler being offered Timbits.

“Inside the Actors Studio,” she declares, and is impressed when he immediately nods in understanding, rather than asking what on earth that is; a reaction she’s had a few times before.

“Let’s do this,” he says, enthusiastically, though in a serious and focussed way, recognising that it’s not really a game, but the opportunity to learn more about one another.

“What’s your favourite word?” she asks.

He considers for a moment, tapping his chin and everything, which amuses Tessa somewhat. “Family,” he says eventually.

“Oh, I love that,” she says. “That word can mean so much.”

“Right?” he agrees. “It’s love, it’s home, it’s happiness, it’s memories, it’s feelings, it’s everything.”

There’s a soft smile on his face now, and it ages his youthful face in the most beautiful way, with gentle crinkles around his eyes. _He looks good when he smiles_ , thinks Tessa to herself. Her reluctance to give into his desire to play games now seems unfounded, and she’s glad they’re doing this. She loves how seriously he’s taking it, and how engaged he seems to be.

“What about you?” he asks. “What’s your favourite word?”

“Love,” she says, a small bubble of anxiety forming in her chest, worried he might laugh at her. “I know it’s cheesy,” she blurts out before he can say anything.

“It’s not,” he reassures her. “Love is my second favourite.” She feels an involuntary smile tug at the corners of her lips and she ducks her head so he won’t see.

“Alright, what’s your least favourite word?” she inquires.

He grimaces. “Pardon my French, but I cannot stand the word…” he lowers his voice and whispers “… bitch.”

Well, that’s not quite what she was expecting. She totally respects that though; goodness knows she’s heard it enough directed towards her and others, and she would happily never hear it again.

“I mean, I know it’s a real word with a real meaning, but I hate when it’s used as an insult, towards women especially.”

Tessa hums in agreement.

“Same with the word ‘gay’ really too,” he says. “That meant something else once, and obviously means something now. But when people toss it around in order to cause offence, that really pisses me off. What’s your least favourite word.”

“Well it’s going to sound petty and pathetic after _that_ , Moir,” she says with a chuckle. “That’s quite something to follow.”

“Try me, Captain.”

“I really hate the word ‘nice’,” she says with a sigh. She glances over to him and he cocks his head, inviting her to explain herself.

“I had this teacher in Second Grade,” she explains. “She hated the word and banned it in the classroom and playground. She said the word was bland and boring and lacked definite feeling or emotion, she said if we used it we wouldn’t be able to express ourselves to our best abilities.”

“Huh,” says Scott, thoughtfully.

“And, of course, ever the good student, and desperate to make my teacher happy, I managed to eliminate it from my vocabulary. Problem is, we were encouraged to prompt and remind each other about not using it, so now when people use it really irks me.”

“That’s fair enough,” concedes Scott. “It is a bit of a useless word when you think about it, and rarely _truly_ positive, I feel. I would be happy for this cockpit to remain a ‘nice’-free zone.”

She barks out a laugh. “I’ll hold you to it, Moir,” she warns.

“I would expect nothing less, Captain.”

They fall quiet for a few moments as she makes an announcement to the passengers, telling them they are planning to begin their descent soon and will land within the hour. She checks the light has gone off before turning to him.

“Right, next question?”

“Okay, um, uh…” In her peripheral vision she can see him rubbing at the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. She can’t fathom why, they’re just asking questions. Then it hits her what the next question is, and she’s about to stop him just as the words tumble out of his mouth.

“What turns you on?”

A quick glance in his direction shows her that he feels nothing but guilt and embarrassment at having asked, and she’s sure the tips of their ears are probably a matching shade of pink now too.

Fortunately, for the both of them, Air Traffic Control interrupts their moment of awkwardness by alerting them to a swiftly moving area of thunder clouds, which they need to divert around.

She shrugs her shoulders at him and offers a reassuring smile. “How about a raincheck on that one, Moir? Literally.”

“Sure thing, Captain,” he acquiesces. “I won’t forget, though,” he adds, a hint of flirtation in his voice. Or perhaps she’s just hearing things? She looks over to find he’s already watching her, and she returns his gaze, narrowing her eyes at him, almost daring him to blink first.

A flash of lightning on the horizon forces them to tear their eyes away and she steers the plane on its new path to Calgary.

 

~§~

 

_Two Months Later_

She finds him slumped in the hotel bar, nursing what looks like a vodka tonic and looking haggard. A mixture of rage, disappointment and sadness is etched on his face. Anger flares within her at the sight of him, and she marches over ready to lay into him about being reckless the night before a flight. But the moment she reaches his side he slides his glass across the bar and, keeping his eyes fixed on the highly polished wooden surface, says, “It’s lime and soda, try it if you don’t believe me.”

She closes her mouth, teeth clacking together as she snaps it shut, the words on the tip of her tongue derailed by his. At a loss for what to say, she sits down cautiously in the chair next to him as he drags his glass back. He’s still not looking at her, but he raises his hand to get the attention of the bartender.

“Another of these for the captain, please,” he says, tapping the glass. Before long the drink is placed in front of Tessa and she takes a sip, enjoying the refreshingly tart flavour of her favourite drink on the nights she avoids alcohol because of work.

_Did he know this was her favourite? Probably just a coincidence._

She takes another long sip and they both put their glasses down on the dark mahogany of the bar before turning to each other and saying, in perfect unison.

“I’m sorry.”

His eyebrows shoot up, surprise overtaking the general melancholy in his face and body language. “Why are you sorry? I’m the one who fucked up.”

“You didn’t fuck up,” she says calmly, and his eyes widen as she lets the profanity slip. “We flew into unexpected turbulence; some of the worst turbulence I’ve ever encountered for sure.”

“I should have given you control,” he says, looking back at his drink.

“I don’t think I could have done a better job. You flew the best you could in terrible conditions. These things happen, Scott.”

She notices him freeze at her use of his first name. She’s been keeping him at arm’s length, trying to create a professional distance between them by only calling him ‘First Officer Moir’, which she knows has been annoying him no end.

“You did nothing wrong; the air was against us today.”

He seems to mull that over for a short time and then puts his head in his hands, sighing hugely.

“You know, for me, the joy of being a pilot is getting people from A to B safely. Taking them through the sky to see loved ones, for holidays, for work. I never thought I’d land a plane and three people would need medical attention, because of the way I flew the plane. I just…” one of his hands comes to cover his eyes, “I…”

“Scott, look at me.” She reaches to place her hand on his forearm and he turns his head to her, his eyes tired and hurt, and shining with unshed tears. Her heart aches at his vulnerability in this moment.

“I don’t know about you,” she says softly, trying not the let the fight going on between her heart and her head about whether to remove her hand from his arm show her face, “but I’m not one of those pilots, nor one of those captains, who seeks to place blame. When we are in the cockpit, we are a team. We succeed together, and we have bad days together, but the bad days are not because either of us did anything wrong, it is because external factors got in our way.”

His lips twitch into a small frown.

“I know that you are an excellent pilot, Scott. And I know that you did your utmost to fly us through that turbulence today in the smoothest and safest way possible.” She rolls her eyes and offers him what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “Clearly the air had other ideas.”

He nods and looks away again, running his finger along the rim of his glass. She takes hers and taps it against his before knocking back the last mouthful of her drink with a flourish, noting that he turns back to look at her.

“And sometimes, shit happens,” she says with a shrug.

He laughs, and damn, if it isn’t music to her ears.

“Get some sleep, Moir,” she says, giving his arm a final squeeze before placing a few bills on the bar and rising from her seat. “We have a plane to fly tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Captain,” he says, looking up at her with eyes that are now more peaceful than before.

“You’re welcome.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Scott,” she says, softly and then turns and walks away through the deserted bar and to take the elevator back to her suite. When she looks back at him, he is sitting up straighter than he was before and tapping at his phone with one finger. She finds herself chuckling softly, his slight ineptitude endearing. When the mirrored doors close, she catches the slightly goofy grin on her own face and she stops immediately and groans.

_Fuck._

**

She doesn’t see him at breakfast the next morning. It’s odd. He’s normally the first one there, reading whatever newspaper is available or flipping through his notebook, but this morning there is no sign of him. After shovelling some rubbery scrambled eggs in her mouth and slipping a couple of pastries into a napkin to snack on later she heads back to their floor of the hotel, wandering a few doors down from her own to knock on his. She pauses outside the door, noticing a tray on the floor of the corridor with the remnants of breakfast on it; breakfast for two. She knocks anyway, her professional responsibility to check his readiness for today’s flight forcing away the gnawing disappointment (she will not say it’s jealousy) in her stomach.

When Andrew opens the door to Scott’s room dressed in the hotel’s white towelling bathrobe, she lets out a choked sound of surprise.

“Andrew?” she asks, incredulously.

“Hey Tess,” he says, totally relaxed and looking pleased to see her. “What’s up?”

“Uh, where’s Scott?”

“Didn’t you know? He gave Kaitlyn his suite, I think to apologise for yesterday, even though three stitches and an ice pack are no big deal, but he insisted,” Andrew explains.

“How long have you and Kaitlyn…” she just waves her hand around. Andrew blushes up to his ears and a shy smile curves his lips.

“Uh, since last night I guess,” he admits, rubbing at the back of his neck. “We, uh, you know, we’ve done a lot of flights together recently, and we’ve had some epic Top Trumps battles in the galley, I was gonna ask her to get a coffee with me when we got back to Pearson today. But then I went with her to the emergency room and things kind of… went well from there,” he chuckles.

“That’s great, Andrew,” she says, genuinely happy for her ex. “Could you now maybe point me in the direction of my First Officer? I haven’t seen him this morning and we need to leave in 30 minutes.”

“Oh yeah, sure, hang on.” He turns and calls into the suite, asking Kaitlyn what her previous room number was.

“202,” comes the muffled response from the bathroom, Kaitlyn in the middle of brushing her teeth.

“202,” Andrew confirms and Tessa nods.

“Thanks,” she says, reaching out to squeeze Andrew’s arm gently and offers him a kind smile, which he returns.

A few minutes later she’s knocking on what is now Scott’s room. He opens the door half-dressed; wearing his pressed trousers, shoes and socks, his undershirt tucked into the waist, belt hanging undone from the loops. He has his phone to his ear, which becomes pink as a blush spreads from his cheeks, looking startled to see her. He cocks his head as an invitation to come in anyway, and she tentatively steps inside the room, quietly closing the door behind her and leaning against it, watching his retreating back as he continues to listen to the person on the other end of the phone, intermittently making hums of agreement whilst collecting his watch from the nightstand, and his toiletry bag from the bathroom to put into the neatly packed suitcase that sits on the bed.

When he’s finished packing and the call is still going, he sits down on the bed and rolls his eyes a little at his phone in apology for keeping her waiting. Tessa, still leaning against the door, crosses her arms over her chest and looks down at the floor, feeling uncomfortable.

“Charlotte, honey, I need to go to work now. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Tessa looks up then, the jealousy she’d felt earlier when she was outside what she thought was still his suite returning in full force.

“Have a great day, I want to hear all about it next week.

Okay, will do, angel.

I love you too. Bye.”

He stands to slip his phone into his pocket and begins to pull on his shirt, noticing that Tessa is still looking at the floor in his doorway. He clears his throat, breaking the awkward silence in the room.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I misjudged how much a seven-year-old would have to say about her birthday party.” When she looks up he is pointing at the phone in explanation. “My niece, Charlotte. It’s her birthday today.”

“Ah, I see,” she says.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of you knocking on my hotel room door, Captain?” he asks with a hint of a smirk on his face, a look that has the previous churning in her stomach turning to warmth, much to her dismay.

“You weren’t at breakfast,” she says, a small waver in her voice. She clears her throat and moves her eyes away from him, allowing them to flicker down to his open suitcase, landing on the neatly folded pair of deep red Armani boxer briefs on the top. She averts her eyes as quickly as possible, wondering if the heat in the room is set unnecessarily high or something, perspiration beading on the back of her neck.

“I went down early,” he says, turning his back to her as he bends over ( _for goodness sake, Tessa, look away_ ) and zips his carry-on closed, places it on the floor and removes his jacket and hat from the wardrobe. “I needed to call Lottie before she left for school, so I didn’t hang about. She was disappointed I wasn’t able to visit this time, I promised I would next time we had a layover here.”

For some reason his use of the word ‘we’ has her gaping at him, which continues far longer than it needs to as she watches him shrug his jacket on.

He straightens his hat as he looks into the mirror and untucks the flap on his jacket pocket, smoothing it carefully before nodding at his reflection, clearly satisfied that he looks ready for the day. “Did you miss me?” he asks in a sing-song voice, another smirk on his face as he walks past her to open the door.

“No!” says Tessa, a little more forcefully than she intended.

He turns back to her, and she feels a small pain in her chest at the way his face has fallen.

“It was just a joke, T,” he says gently, barely above a whisper, and she freezes, staring up at him in confusion.

No one has called her ‘T’ before. She dislikes Tessa; it’s her work name and no one who really knows and loves her calls her that, instead they generally call her ‘Tess’. Though actually she’s quite picky about who’s allowed to call her ‘Tess’. Andrew calls her it still - and she hasn’t the heart to ask him not to - but it’s always ‘Captain’ when there are other people around, which she’s grateful for. Lord knows most of the crew don’t need any further ammunition to use against her.

She wonders if she should correct him, to insist he continues to only call her ‘Captain’, or ‘Tessa’ at the very least; it would be much more professional. But to her dismay she finds she really doesn’t want to. It feels special, him having a unique name for her, and she knows they need to be professional, but that tiny, rebellious part of her hopes he won’t stop. It sends a thrill of excitement and possibility swooping through her stomach.

It would seem, though, that the moment has passed.

“After you, Captain,” he says flatly as he holds the door open for her, and with a pang of regret she steps out of his room.

They walk in silence down the corridor, the wheels of their suitcases muffled by the plush carpet. As she steps into the elevator she consciously shifts her mind to the day ahead and the task of flying their A320 home to Pearson. She needs to focus on her job, not the man who sits next to her as she does it.

 

~§~

 

_Four Months Later_

“Do you know what it’s like?” she asks him one day, her hands on her hips, back and neck ramrod straight in order to draw herself up to her full height. He stares at her wide-eyed, a somewhat scared expression on his face, a minute flare in his nostrils giving away the ever-present undercurrent of his attraction to her.

They’re alone in the pilots’ lounge, which is in partial darkness as the airport comes to a halt in the few hours the skies are closed overnight; the friendly gentleman who mans the desk long gone, the coffee machines silent and the day’s papers stuffed into the recycling bin. They’re both exhausted after a delayed flight made longer by a strong headwind, and had stayed on board to help the crew with their final duties so everyone could get home as soon as possible. Tessa had been tying up a garbage sack next to him when they heard them whispering in the galley.

“To walk into hotels and have the people on reception do a double take when you introduce yourself as the captain and request the key to your suite? To have men come up to you in bars during layovers and assume you’re part of the crew and that your boyfriend is the pilot? To have to wait a week for your captain’s hat to arrive because they don’t keep appropriate sizes in stock, and the airline not allow you a spare because of the additional cost involved in procuring it, meanwhile your First Officer probably has a handful of spares at home so he feels he can shove his into his carry on as soon as possible, or do target practice in the cockpit by throwing it at the hooks on the door?” He fidgets uncomfortably.

“Or to have the guards on security go chasing after the crew member who went through in front of you with your jacket in their hands because they thought the captain left it behind in his haste? To be told by passengers as they de-plane that you did a “good job up there today, dear”? To be asked by the old boys club in the pilots’ lounge how you’re going to fly across the country six times a week when you start popping out children?

Do you know what it’s like to be hated by the female crew because they think that _you_ think you’re better than them? And hated by the male crew because they seemingly can’t handle a woman being in charge of the aircraft?

You heard what they said today, Scott, about me and Andrew. I first met him at university, and our relationship was over before he even worked for Air Canada. I didn’t know he applied for the job until he got it and told me, so how could it have had anything to do with him becoming a manager? Yet I got shit when it happened, not him.

I’ve been dogged by rumours and assumptions and accusations my whole career and I am so so sick of it. Some days I arrive at briefing and someone says something snarky or just gives me the evil eye and I wonder if it’s worth it anymore.”

He shakes his head and opens his mouth to respond. But she raises her hand to stop him before he can.

“I don’t want your pity, your defence of the male species, I don’t even need your respect.” ( _Oh god, of course he respects her!_ ) “But I do want you to hear what it’s like, I want you to know what I have to put up with, what I have to ignore and look past and overcome to do my job every single day, that’s all.”

He looks at her sheepishly, eyes wide and face pale, he backs up and leans against one of the bar tables in the lounge, his arms hanging by his sides. He opens his mouth to speak but no words come out, so he just shakes his head.

She stands there with her arms wrapped around herself, reeling from her emotional outburst, her eyes filled with angry, unshed tears.

“Tessa…” He wants to hug her, to wrap her in a tight embrace and comfort her. But it’s not his place to do that, so he stays quietly where he stands against the table and watches her as she wavers slightly on the spot. After a moment he yawns, bringing one arm up to stretch and then rub at his eye, and in the split second it takes him to do this he suddenly finds himself with an armful of Tessa.

He stiffens at first, unsure as to how to respond. She hasn’t brought her arms around him - they’re still crossed against her own chest - but she’s leaning right into him, the side of her face resting on his shoulder and her soft hair, so neatly pulled back into a low bun, tickling his chin.

After a beat he tentatively brings his arms around her back, and she melts further into him, the tension leaving her shoulders as she releases a stuttering breath. He holds her a little tighter and breathes deeply, which overwhelms his senses as he takes in the faint vanilla scent at the neck mingling with the subtle strawberry smell of her hair. He’s never noticed her smell before, he suddenly realises. Obviously, when you’re 36,000 feet in the air your sense of smell is diminished, and he had been taught at the aviation academy that it was generally considered courteous when working on aircraft to ensure that you smelled fresh, but not be overly scented, given the nature of the enclosed spaces and recycled air.

He’s not sure how long they stand there in the empty pilots’ lounge; at some point his eyes fell closed and their breathing became synchronised, and the concept of time was temporarily lost. The sound of a door slamming in the distance jolts him out of the first peaceful moment he’s felt he’s had in months.

“I should go,” she whispers sleepily and begins to straighten up. He watches her closely as she does, takes in the tiredness of her eyes and the dark tendrils of hair that have fallen from her bun and now frame her porcelain face. Despite her obvious exhaustion she is still beautiful. He cautiously brings a hand up to tuck the strand of hair behind her ear, watching her closely as he does so. As he gently pulls his hand away his eyes meet hers - luminous jade enhanced by long, dark lashes - and he’s lost.

“Scott,” she says, not breaking eye contact with him. The air between them crackles with lust and longing. Imperceptibly slowly she rocks up onto the balls of her feet until their noses are so close that she can feel the heat radiating off his skin.

“Anyone in here?!” calls a voice into the lounge. They spring apart like they’ve both received an electric shock.

Scott recovers quickest. “We’re just headed out, one second!” he calls out and there’s a murmur from who he assumes is a security guard in the doorway.

“We should go,” she says quietly, voice hoarse with tiredness and emotion. He grabs her hand as she moves to leave.

“Are you gonna be okay, T?” he whispers. She looks back up at him through her lashes and gives him a watery smile.

“I’m good, Moir, thanks.”

He nods and follows her out, accompanying her all the way to her car, the late October night air bitter and frigid against their skin as they move swiftly towards the parking lot.

“Thanks, Scott,” she says quietly as she closes the trunk, where he just deposited her carry-on. She grabs his hand and squeezes it once. “For everything.”

“Goodnight, Captain. See you on Tuesday.”

“Goodnight.”

He watches her pull out of the space and head for the exit before he turns to climb into his own car. He sits in the front seat for a while, replaying the days events, wondering whether he should have said or done something different. A jaw-cracking yawn pulls him out of his contemplation and he shoves the car into drive and cautiously makes his way home, determined that Tuesday will be a better day.

 

~§~

 

_Six Months Later_

“Your tattoo, what is it?” she asks one day in Calgary while they’re sitting in the pilots’ lounge, waiting for a stubborn bank of fog to clear so they can make their way home to Pearson.

“Hmm?” he says, raising his head and switching off the iPad, on which he had been studying the forecast for the next 24 hours.

“Your tattoo,” she says, feeling less confident now she’s having to ask again. “May I see it?”

“Um, sure,” he says, unbuttoning his right shirt sleeve and pulling the cuff back before stretching his arm out on the table so it’s closer to her.

It’s a silly thing, something he got on a whim one day at the end of a topsy turvy week; on the Monday he received his acceptance letter to join the flight academy, on the Tuesday he was benched by his coach, on Wednesday his brother Danny got engaged, on Thursday he broke his ankle at practice, and on Friday he’d deferred his entry into the academy whilst he healed. On the Saturday he’d found himself stumbling into a tattoo parlour on his crutches, slumping down into the chair and pretending the tears that escaped from his eyes were from the pain in his wrist and not in his heart.

He comes back to himself as he becomes aware that Tessa is tracing the long-healed marks with the tip of her finger, flowing from the point of the paper aeroplane to the tail and onto the dotted trail in its wake to the word ‘soar’ written in neat, slanting cursive.

“It’s cheesy, I know,” he says with a self-deprecating chuckle.

“It’s not,” she says gently, her finger now tracing back from the ‘r’ right to the tip of the plane again, and the hairs of Scott’s arms begin to lift as goosebumps erupt along his skin, as if her touch has switched on two imaginary engines on the delicate paper plane, their thrumming echoing in his veins. He clenches his fist involuntarily against the onslaught of feeling - in his wrist, in his arm, in, well, everywhere. She pulls her hand away quickly, an apologetic smile ghosting over her face.

“My brothers...” he says with a chuckle, putting his hands in his lap and buttoning his cuff once again, “... they ribbed me about it for so long after I got it. Told me it was cheesy and girly and that if I insisted on permanently inking inspirational flying messages onto myself I could at least have had the word ‘thrust’ tattooed there instead!”

Tessa snorts and he immediately snaps his attention towards her with a smirk on his face, whilst she looks utterly mortified by the sound that’s just come out of her. As soon as their eyes meet they dissolve into a fit of giggles that causes the other grounded pilots to look over at them somewhat disapprovingly from behind their newspapers and crossword puzzle books. In sync they move their hands to cover their mouths in an attempt to muffle their laughter, but this ends up making everything worse.

“Shall we get out of here, walk it off?” asks Scott, bumping her with his shoulder and cocking his head towards the door, the eyes of a particularly old-school captain still on them and making him feel like he’s a teenager again.

“Sure,” she agrees. “I’d kill for a decent cup of coffee!”

They wander through the terminal, which feels like being on another planet, such is the density of the fog outside the windows all around them. They end up squished into the back corner of a branch of Tim Hortons, way out at one of the furthest gates, keeping an eye on their watches and an ear out for announcements. The bright, humming departure boards are covered in red and orange, every flight delayed or cancelled and currently no end in sight to the chaos. Scott lets out a long sigh.

“You alright there, Moir?” she asks, cocking her head in concern.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Sorry,” he replies, running his finger around the rim of his empty hot chocolate cup.

“Scott?”

“It’s my mom’s birthday tomorrow,” he explains. “I want to get home in time to see her. She was sick, a few years back. She’s fine now, but you know, time together is precious and I want as much of it as I can with her.”

“Of course,” says Tessa, her voice full of kindness and empathy.

“You know, she’s the only person who didn’t laugh when she first saw my tattoo. She actually cried.” She offers him a sympathetic smile and pats his hand with her left one. He brings his other to rest on hers, holding it in place and she glances at him nervously as he keeps her hand in place. “It had been a bit of a roller coaster week for me, and it was only about a month after she left hospital so she was resting on the couch when I hobbled home.”

Tessa frowns, not understanding the reference. “I’ll explain another time,” he says, before continuing. “Anyway, she saw the bandage immediately and asked what I’d done, thinking I was hurt. I showed her and she just pulled me in right next to her and held me like I was 10 years old again.”

She leans into him gently, their shoulders touching and his hands still sandwiching hers on the table.

“What does your ring say on it?” he asks, peering down at the silver band on her middle finger.

“Oh,” she says, lifting her hand (which he releases immediately) and working the ring off. She places it down on the table in front of him and he picks it up, turning it around in his fingers so he can read the words stamped into it:

_Strength, Balance, Soar._

“I guess it’s my version of a tattoo,” she says with a shrug as he continues to turn the ring around and around.

“I love it,” he says eventually, handing it back to her.

“My mother gave it to me,” she explains. “Not long after I started as a pilot.”

She goes on to tell him that she and Andrew broke things off during her first year at Air Canada. He was doing his masters and she was flying across the Atlantic three times a week. She was still a first officer, with lofty goals of becoming a captain; he was applying for PhD courses and trying to finish his dissertation. It wasn’t working anymore, and although the breakup was mutual, it was painful at the time.

“When he first joined Air Canada we had a flight together pretty soon afterwards. I confided in my captain at the time that we used to date, because he’d overheard me asking Andrew how his mother was. By the end of the 90 minute flight the whole crew knew and were whispering about it. The following day I heard rumours about myself in the pilots’ lounge. That was the first time in my life I didn’t want to fly aeroplanes anymore; I nearly packed it all in and handed in my notice. But my Mom came up for a surprise visit - I’m still convinced Andrew called her, but he’s never admitted to it. She took me out for a girls day and we ordered this ring from a local jeweller. I’ve never taken it off since.”

This time it’s him who takes her hand and offers a smile of encouragement. He grabs his empty cup and raises it in front of them.

“To our wonderful moms,” he says, tapping his cup against hers as she grins broadly.

**

“What’s your favourite curse word?” he asks her under his breath, both of them now back in the pilots’ lounge awaiting new departure times, the runway due to re-open any minute.

“You’re asking me this here, now?” she says through clenched teeth. “We already caused a ruckus earlier, I don’t want to get kicked out, Scott.”

“But I’m booooored,” he whines, flailing his arms like a child, which amuses her a lot more than it should.

“Fine, but we say them at the same time okay? And quietly, for god’s sake.”

He rolls his eyes at her, but not in a nasty way. “Okay, on the count of three?”

She nods.

“One, two, three…”

“Fuck,” they both whisper, and then Scott snorts so loudly he starts coughing, causing some of their colleagues to look in their direction.

“Shhh,” she hisses as he continues to cough.

“Oh, never mind me,” he wheezes, finally catching his breath and taking a swig of water. “I’m totally fine.”

It’s her turn to roll her eyes this time. But she’s curious they chose the same word.

“Why do you like it?” she asks.

“Short, snappy, to the point, works well in most sentences, has a few meanings. What more could you want from a curse word?” he says, and she has to press her lips together not to laugh at his sound logic. “Why do you like it?”

She thinks it through for a moment, trying to think of how to explain her love of this word to him. She’s the baby of the family, and her mother in particular was (and still is) quite protective of her. Yet she looked up to her older siblings so much, and as each one left home for university it was still them she called with her problems.

(“Fuck that!” Casey had said when she didn’t get full marks on a test because she had a nose bleed in the middle and the teacher wouldn’t give her extra time.

“Fuck her!” Kevin had said about the girl who beat her to the final spot on the school debating team because her mom and the teacher were best friends.

“Fuck him!” Jordan had said about the guy who tried to follow her into her dorm, unwelcomed, during her first week at university; and about Andrew, who had stepped in and got rid of him (though Jordan clearly meant two different things there).)

“It’s quite sentimental to me,” she says with a knowing smile. Scott throws his head back and hoots with laughter; they’re definitely annoying the other pilots now, but she really couldn’t care less.

 

~§~

 

_Ten Months Later_

“If heaven exists, what would you like to hear god say at the pearly gates?”

They’ve reached their cruising altitude and Tessa has just made the announcement to the passengers, promising clear skies ahead to Toronto with a slight tailwind she hopes will get them there a little faster than planned. It’s one of those smooth days where everything is easy. No traffic into the airport from the hotel, no queues at security, pushed back early, took off in their exact slot. Today is going to be a good day.

“Isn’t that supposed to be the last question?” she asks, taking a sip of her water before rising from her seat to grab a sleeve of crackers from her bag.

“I’m feeling rebellious today,” he says with a shrug.

She offers him a cracker before taking a stack into her hand and placing the sleeve in his ever empty cup-holder.

“You got enough there, Captain?” he asks, nodding his head at her handful of crackers.

“Yup,” she says, spraying some cracker crumbs over the controls as she does so, before bringing her hand up and covering her mouth.

“That’s real classy, Virtch,” he snickers, eyes crinkled in amusement.

“I’ll have you know I can eat six of these in under a minute, Moir,” she throws back, seemingly choosing to ignore his new nickname for her for now.

“Hah!” he cries. “Now that I’d love to see.”

“Some other time, maybe,” she says, brushing the crumbs off her lap. “I don’t think Air Canada would be very happy if you had to make an emergency landing because your captain was choking on cracker crumbs.”

“Yeah, good point,” he concedes.

They sit in silence for a while as she munches on her snack, continuing to offer him crackers intermittently.

They’ve not long passed over Winnipeg when she exits the cockpit to use the bathroom and returns to take over the controls, allowing him to eat his sandwich that he’d brought from his brother’s house.

“What are you doing on your days off when we get back?” she asks.

“I’m going home to my parents’ house,” he says, slightly sadly.

“They’re in Ilderton, right?” she asks, and he nods.

“It’s the anniversary of my grandfather’s death, so the whole clan is getting together.”

“Oh, Scott, I’m so sorry,” she says, reaching over and gently squeezing his knee.

“It’s fine,” he says, probably too quickly. “I mean, it’s not for a great reason, but it’s a convenient time for the family to all see each other.”

“Is your brother coming from Calgary?” she asks.

“He is actually, we were joking this morning how we just missed each other, they’re on the next flight out after this one as it worked better with Tessa’s schedule.”

“His wife is called Tessa too?”

He opens his mouth to respond before he registers what she just said and he freezes, a surreptitious sideways glance towards her telling him that she cannot believe those words just came out of her mouth either.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, clearing his throat and studying his sandwich intently before taking a large bite and chewing it as he reaches for his flight plan and begins to inspect it awkwardly.

The beeping of the intercom from the galley interrupts the uncomfortable silence.

“Oh, thank goodness,” sighs Tessa, “I really need another cup of coffee.”

“Hi Joannie,” Scott greets their cabin manager. “Everything okay?”

“First Office Moir, we have a code green in the cabin.”

_Oh shit._

His blood runs cold as he looks over at Tessa and finds her to suddenly be as pale as he feels.

“Thanks, Joannie,” he says, putting every effort into keeping his voice steady and neutral. “Put out the call, please update us as soon as you can.”

Tessa is already in contact with Air Traffic Control when he hears Joannie’s clear and calm announcement go out into the cabin.

_“Ladies and Gentlemen, unfortunately one of our passengers has been taken unwell. We ask that you remain in your seats at this time and should anyone on board be a doctor or medical professional please make yourselves known to the crew by pressing your call button. Thank you.”_

**

His hands are shaking by the time they’re on stand in London, and he can see the blue flashing lights of the ambulance, and a coroner’s vehicle waiting for them on the tarmac. The crew and the two doctors on board had done everything they could, but the 86-year-old passenger had suffered a massive and fatal stroke, which even the most well-equipped and close-by medical team could not have saved her from.

They come out of the cockpit to find the crew efficiently helping passengers disembark through the back door of the plane, whilst the medical team boards at the front, the first few rows having been cordoned off on the thankfully only partially-full plane. He immediately goes to Joannie to see what he can do to help and after retrieving some luggage from the overhead bins for passengers behind the cordon and exchanging some words with the passenger who was sitting next to the woman when she was taken ill, he returns to the front of the plane as the passenger is being transferred onto a gurney.

He goes to remove his hat out of respect, but then realises he hasn’t put it on yet, and opts instead to stand still with his head bowed until they begin to move away, at which point he returns to Tessa’s side by the galley. Her eyes are wide, fearful, and full of unshed tears and all he wants to do is pull her into an embrace, but he knows she probably won’t appreciate that right now. Instead he stays right by her as she speaks to the powers that be about what happened and fills out all the additional paperwork that’s required.

They both breathe a sigh of relief when they hear that a different set of pilots will be taking the empty plane on to Pearson later, so they make their way out of the airport and towards the taxi and bus ranks out front.

“Well, at least you don’t have far to go to your parents’ tonight,” she says flatly as they watch the specially chartered bus containing their passengers depart for Pearson by road.

“I think I’d rather have driven from Toronto,” he whispers, before pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the price of an Uber back to his folks’ place. As he unlocks the device he hears Tessa sniffle, and he’s barely turned and opened his arms out to her before she slumps against him and buries her face in the lapels of his jacket, sobbing.

**

Kate Virtue has seen a lot in her life. Marriage, divorce, and four kids born over 12 years means there’s little she hasn’t dealt with. Almost nothing is unexpected, and she’s not easily surprised.

So, when her sobbing youngest daughter appears on her doorstep being practically held up by a kind and incredibly handsome man who introduces himself as her First Officer, she is, admittedly, taken aback for a moment. But, forever a practical woman, and a fixer at heart, she takes her daughter into her arms and guides her in and onto the couch before patting her knee and assuring her she’ll be right back.

The pilot, Scott is his name, refuses her offer to pay for the taxi they took from the airport, and politely declines a cup of tea. Instead he swiftly and gently fills her in on their less than pleasant day – after which Kate fully understands why her daughter is curled in the foetal position on her couch and crying her eyes out – and takes his leave, though not before scribbling his number on a piece of paper from his notebook and asking her to let him know how Tessa is doing later.

She watches him, dumbstruck, as he walks down the path and back into the waiting taxi, which pulls away and heads north out of town. She looks down at the pair of wings in the bottom corner of the piece of paper in her hand and then back at the now deserted street, and she wonders for a moment if he is some sort of guardian angel, rather than a pilot. She shakes her head then, scoffing at the foolish notion, before shutting the door and returning to the living room to take care of her daughter.

**

Tessa wakes the next morning to the sound of rain pounding against the window and she sighs, her plans to go out for a run doused, literally, by a deluge of cold water. She rubs the grit and gunk from her eyes, which feel tight and tired from spending the evening crying in her mother’s arms. Her grandmother’s necklace is still clutched in her hand, so she places it gently on the nightstand and retrieves her phone, determined to find an outlet for her pain and sadness today.

Which is how she finds herself at Medway Arena, tying on the old pair of battered white figure skates she found at the back of her closet. She can’t remember if they were hers or Jordan’s, but they fit and the blades aren’t too blunt so she’s going to give them a go. It’s been years since she’s been skating, but she finds her rhythm fairly quickly once she gets going, now glad that she had skated semi-regularly throughout her childhood.

She’s happily going round and round anticlockwise, nodding her head and moving her shoulders to the Hall and Oates song playing over the sound system when she hears a familiar voice behind her.

“Tessa?”

She turns so fast she loses her balance and before she knows it she’s hit the ice, hard, and knows she’ll soon be the owner of a spectacular bruise on her upper thigh. There’s a sound of rushing blades coming towards her and she finds herself being lifted up and set, slightly unsteadily now, back on her feet. She looks up to see the hazel eyes to which the voice belongs.

“What are you doing here?” they say at the same time.

“Clearing my head,” they both explain, before their eyes go wide and they burst into laughter.

They skate round and round for a little while, Scott reaching out to steady her each time she trips over her toe pick and her doing the same for him when he does it once too.

“You’re wearing figure skates,” she says after he nearly goes down, still grabbing onto his arm as he brushes the ice off his knee. They’re lovely skates, custom made by the looks of things and they look freshly polished and well cared for, unlike her scruffy old ones.

He shrugs. “I’ve always preferred figure skates,” he explains. He tells her that he likes the way the ice feels when he wears figure skates, likes seeking out deep edges and sweeping curves. “They sound better too. In fact, that’s my favourite sound.”

She smiles at that, happy to continue the game they haven’t played in a little while.

“What’s your favourite sound, T?” he asks, nudging her gently with his shoulder.

“Silence.”

“You don’t say?” he says, sarcastically. She gives him a playful shove for that.

“Not just not talking or whatever,” she explains. “Like proper, real, actual silence. We spend all day surrounded by the noise of the plane, don’t you ever want to just hear… nothing?”

“Nope, I hate silence,” he says. “I know, right, total shocker! Seriously though, silence scares me a little, it makes me feel like I’m alone.”

“Fair enough,” she says.

The sound of feedback from a microphone fills the rink as the manager announces the ice is about to be resurfaced. Tessa cringes and covers her ears immediately, waiting until it is over to head off the ice with Scott.

“ _That’s_ my least favourite sound,” she exclaims as she sits down heavily on the bench next to him, taking the bottle of water he offers her with a nod of thanks.

“Yeah, it’s the worst,” he agrees.

**

“Ugh, fresh ice sounds even better,” he calls out as he carves huge figures of eight on one foot ahead of her. She watches him, awed by his grace and beauty on the ice. She wonders if he ever figure skated seriously before taking up hockey, a question that is answered only a moment later when her executes a rather lovely single axel. She claps her gloved hands together and he gives a little bow, waiting for her to catch up to him.

“If heaven exists, what would you like to hear god say at the pearly gates?” she asks, quietly, as they continue to skate around the rink next to one another.

“Hopefully something like, ‘Your grandfather’s watching the Leafs lift the Stanley Cup and has a beer with your name on it’,” he says, a little wistfully. “Though I’m hoping that’s not their only shot at the Cup.” They laugh over that, glad to lighten the mood a little. “What about you?”

“‘Your grandmother has been waiting for you’,” she says quietly with a sad smile. “I really hope so anyway.”

“I hope so too, T,” he says, reaching for her hand to hold it in his.

They stay like that for another hour, just skating round and round and round, chatting about their grandparents and their childhoods, hands held loosely between them.

They never mention flying, not once.

 

~§~

 

_Eleven Months Later_

Tessa has always sought to be a kind person.

When she was a child she would approach the other children standing alone in the playground, despite her own shyness, because she couldn’t bear the thought of someone being lonely and having no one to play with. When she was at university she would limit herself to two drinks when she went on nights out so she could watch over her friends and make sure they got home safely. And when she entered Air Canada’s training programme she knew she wanted to continue to demonstrate her kindness towards her colleague and the public, whose lives would be in her hands.

But she soon learned that the other people around her did not necessarily share those aspirations, or qualities. Many of the older captains she worked with during her training and early years as a first officer actively discouraged her from going out of her way to be helpful and kind to passengers and crew, and many of the crew treated her kindness with distrust and unwarranted nastiness.

Scott, however, is a breath of fresh air. He throws his trash away in the galley after a flight, or takes it off the plane with him rather than leaving it for the cleaning crew. He greets all the ground staff by name even though he’s only been based out of Pearson for a short time; he asks about their kids and their house moves and their pets.

He’s a great pilot but an even greater person, and he’s currently providing her a play-by-play of his six-year-old nephew’s Timbits match that he attended at the weekend. She’s listening, but her mind is also drifting to their flight out here a couple of days ago, which Tessa just cannot get out of her head.

**

_It’s a Friday evening flight to Calgary. The airport is rammed and their flight is no different. Priority boarding has just begun and chaos has already ensued._

_Three families with tiny infants board, followed by a mother with an adorable pair of identical twin girls, one of whom tripped whilst dashing towards the plane and scraped her knees, requiring Andrew to dig out the first aid kit to find her a bandaid._

_All the cabin crew are occupied when a father with three young children reaches the top of the stairs, the infant in the sling on his front wailing, whilst the toddler is held with some effort by the boy who must only be about six years old. They’re all wearing backpacks and the father is also negotiating a diaper bag and two suitcases._

_Scott is quick to jump in and help the man, taking his bags from him and leading them down to their seats, holding the infant for the father as he gets himself and his other two children organised in their seats. She cannot take her eyes off him holding the baby in his arms, pulling faces at her and bouncing gently when she starts to fuss before handing her carefully back to her waiting father and wishing him good luck for the flight._

_“Excuse me, Miss,” comes a voice from the doorway, and she turns to see an elderly couple standing before her, the wife looking distant and a little confused as she clings onto her husband's arm whilst he maneuvers their two carry-ons with his free hand. He’s breathing hard from climbing the steps up to the aircraft, and Tessa wonders why they weren’t given any assistance with boarding. “Could you possibly tell me which side of the plane we’re on?”_

_“Of course, Sir,” she says, taking his tickets and seeing they’re quite near the back of the plane. “Would you like to stop and catch your breath for a moment? I think you’re the last of this lot to board, you’ve got a few minutes before the next wave arrives.”_

_“Thank you, dear, but I really need to get my wife into her seat,” he says tiredly, but ever so fondly._

_“I can help you to your seat, Madam,” says Scott as he appears at the front of the plane, and offers the woman his arm._

_“George is that you?” she says, as she eagerly grabs Scott’s arm and walks with him towards her seat, Scott wheeling one of the suitcases in front of them._

_“Funny,” the man says to Tessa as they watch them go, “he does look a bit like George did.” Tessa looks at him, questioningly. “My wife has dementia; at the moment she seems to be reliving her childhood. George was her eldest brother, he went off and flew in the RAF in World War Two, never came home. My wife was only seven.”_

_“I’m sorry,” Tessa says as the man takes her arm and she helps him down the aisle now._

_“Not to worry, dear,” he says, upbeat. “She has a very happy life, and we’re off to see our first great-grandchild today.”_

_“Congratulations,” says Scott as they arrive at the seats and he reaches up to stow the second back in the overhead bin, followed by their coats._

_Once they’re seated and settled Tessa checks whether they need anything else before they take their leave. The man declines and thanks them for their additional support._

_“Oh wait,” the woman suddenly pipes up, eyes wide in delight as she looks at Tessa. “You’re the captain!”_

_“That’s right, I am,” she says, crouching down so she’s at the woman’s level. Her eyes look clearer than they were before, a moment of lucidity perhaps? She can’t help but return the woman’s wide grin._

_“I could tell by your uniform, dear,” she says, running her bony fingers across the epaulettes on Tessa’s shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re flying us today.”_

_“Well I am very glad to be flying you, I hope you have a wonderful journey with us” replies Tessa, standing to head back towards the cockpit. But the woman catches her hand and pulls her back._

_“I always wanted to be a pilot, you know,” she says, eyes shining with tears. Tessa crouches back down and takes both the woman’s hands in her own. “I was too young during the war and women weren’t allowed to train anyway. In the end I became a spy,” she says in a stage whisper so loud Tessa’s sure everyone on the plane heard it._

_She and Scott exchange a glance with the man, who merely brings his fingers across his mouth in a zipping motion, before winking at them._

_“Huh,” says Scott, sounding as bemused as she feels. “Well we best get back to the cockpit so we can fly this thing. It was lovely to meet you both.”_

_“You follow her orders, young man,” calls the woman as they make their way back up the aisle._

_Scott turns back towards her with a bright smile. “Don’t worry, Madam,” he calls, “a good first officer always listens to their captain._

_Once they arrive in Calgary, deplane, and have thanked all the cabin and ground crew they part ways inside the terminal building; he to meet his family in arrivals, and her to finish her paperwork in the pilots’ lounge. But upon arrivingl there she had finds it closing up for the evening so she decides to make her way to her hotel instead. She spots him as she’s crossing the road outside the terminal, waiting in the pick-up area holding the hand of a young girl, who she assumes must be his niece._

_“Fancy seeing you here, Moir,” she says as she sidles up to them._

_“Lounge closed?” he asks, she nods her head. “Charlotte and I are just waiting for Danny to bring the car around so we can go home, it’s way past someone’s bedtime,” he says, swinging their joined hands between them._

_“Are you a pilot like Uncle Scott?” asks Charlotte her eyes full of wonder as she pats Tessa’s knee to get her attention._

_“I am,” says Tessa, crouching down so she’s at the girl’s level._

_“That’s so cool,” she says._

_“Do you know what’s cooler, Lottie?” asks Scott, crouching down too. “Tessa is the captain! That means she’s in charge of the whole plane.”_

_Charlotte looks from her uncle to Tessa with wide eyes. “Wow! Can I do that one day too?”_

_“Of course you can, darling,” he says, bringing his arms around her and hugging her close and pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “You can do anything you want to do.”_

**

“Earth to Tessa?”

She jumps at the sound of his voice, and sits up straighter very quickly, suddenly having realised that she drifted into a total daydream for a moment. Scott’s looking at her with a look of faux outrage on his face.

“Honestly Virtch, you ask to hear about my weekend and then you start daydreaming on me. A bit of the wing fell off, by the way.”

“What?!” she cries, then glowers at him as he starts giggling. “Don’t do that!”

“Then don’t daydream on me, Kiddo, it’s very rude, massive turn off!”

“Aha!” she cries. “So that’s what turns you off!”

“Oh are we playing again, okay let’s do this,” he says, rubbing his hands together schemingly. “You go first.”

“What turns you off?” she asks, feeling the most curious about this set of questions… for some reason.

“I’d say, insincerity.”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” she says, reaching for her coffee and grimacing when she takes a sip and finds that it’s cold.

“What about you, what turns you off?”

“Laziness,” she says, pressing the intercom button and requesting a fresh cup of coffee from the galley.

“Ooh that’s rich,” he mocks, and she throws her balled-up napkin at him in retaliation.

“I am literally not allowed to go and get my own coffee,” she says, shrugging as she pretends to prop her feet up on her controls, hastily straightening up as a knock on the door comes. She flicks his shoulder as she passes him to open the door to Kaitlyn.

She hums in contentment as she sips on her coffee, dunking one of the mini cookies Kaitlyn slipped to her into it and sucking on it before popping the whole thing into her mouth. Scott clears his throat pointedly.

“Weren’t we playing a game?”

“Oh, yes. We were,” she says, trying not to giggle like a teenager and willing her ears not to go red. “What turns you on?”

“Strength,” he says, seriously, not a waver of doubt in his voice. “Determination.”

She doesn’t really know what to say to that, but fortunately they’re about to begin their descent so they have to leave it there for now.

**

“Woah! We have a runner,” he cries, as he bends down and spreads out his arms so the child running at full pelt towards them cannot get off the plane without her mother. “Where are you running to, sweetie?” he asks, attempting to stall the girl as her mother makes her way up the aisle with their luggage.

“I’m going to my uncle’s house in Miss’aga!” she cries, throwing her hands in the air, which Scott copies, joining her in her little dance of joy. Tessa watches their exchange out of the corner of her eye as she bids goodbye to the other passengers; it makes her feel warm and fuzzy all over.

“Maggie!” The girl’s mother finally makes it to the front of the plane and reaches out for her daughter’s hand. “Please don’t run off, baby girl. Thank you so much for stopping her,” she says, looking up at Scott, grateful for his quick thinking intervention.

“Not a problem, you both have a lovely trip,” he says, giving the girl a high five and waving back at her until she disappears around the corner of the air bridge with her mother.

Kindness is a rare thing, she’s found, but not with Scott.

**

“Hey,” he says, catching her arm before they walk through the doors into the terminal and head in their separate directions. “We didn’t finish the game.”

She turns to face him and discovers they are standing very close to one another. She swallows nervously as he leans towards her and put his mouth close to her ear.

“What turns you on?” he says it quietly, intrigued more than anything, anxiously not wanting to come across as sleazy by asking his female colleague such a question. When he leans back he notices her eyes are closed, but when they flutter open her jade green irises have darkened.

_Holy shit._

She smiles then, soft and shy and genuine, and she raises her hand and places her palm gently on his cheek. He fights his desire to close his eyes and lean into it, instead keeping his gaze firmly fixed on her.

“Kindness,” she says quietly before leaning in and quickly pressing a soft kiss to his other cheek. “I’ll see you in a few days, Scott,” she whispers, stepping back and grabbing the handle of her carry-on and walking away towards the exit, turning at the last moment and giving him a smile as the automated doors begin to close. It’s small and cautious, but in it he sees nothing but hope and promise.

 

~§~

 

_One Year Later_

“Happy anniversary, T!” he says, setting the cup of hot chocolate with a touch of coffee down in front of her.

She frowns at him.

“Sorry, sorry. Captain T,” he says with a cheeky grin.

“Anniversary?” she asks, confused.

“Yeah, of our first flight together. Remember that day? It was chilly if I recall.”

“It was June,” she says, still not really getting it, it’s too early, her body not having fully adjusted to the new shift pattern they’re on.

“I wasn’t talking about the weather,” he mumbles with a smirk as he pointedly takes off his hat and picks up the flight plan she’s been studying.

“Oh,” she says, cringing a little at the memory, how harsh she’d been on him, though she remembers why. She shrugs, “You were late, _and_ you forgot your hat. It really wasn’t a great first impression, Scott.”

“You know,” he says, chuckling at the memory, “I thought the exact same thing.”

**

“What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?” asks Scott as they sit on the tarmac in a queue for the runway. Normally they wouldn’t play until they’re up and cruising, but they’ve already been sitting here 15 minutes and Tessa is glad of the distraction, she’s been getting more and more riled up everytime Air Traffic Control lets a triple seven go ahead of them in the queue.

“Ooh,” she says, “probably a professional dancer.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Getting to go out on stage at the Four Seasons Centre or the Royal Opera House every night, can you imagine?” She knows her voice sounds all wistful and dreamy, and she expects to hear Scott starting to laugh next to her, but it doesn’t come. She glances over and he’s smiling.

“I could totally see you doing that.”

“What about you?” she asks.

“Oh, a rapper for sure!”

She snorts.

“What?!”

“I’m just kidding,” he says. “I’m too cool to be a rapper.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely what the problem is,” she says under her breath and he gasps in faux outrage, which only causes her to succumb to giggles.

“I actually think that teachers have the best jobs; imparting all that knowledge, shaping young and eager minds, guiding the next generation… what?” He stops speaking and watches her, and she knows that it’s pointless trying to hide the dopey, soft expression on her face. Their eyes meet for a moment and she can feel her cheeks heating, noticing that his own are pinking too. He clears his throat.

“What profession would you not like to do?” he asks, his voice now low and scratchy, causing the heat in Tessa’s cheeks to spread all over her body.

“Trust me, nobody wants me to be a singer.”

“Haha, I’m sure you’re not that bad,” he says.

“Do you want a demo?”

“I dunno, _do_ I want a demo?” he chuckles.

She bites her lip and shakes her head with a grimace and he laughs harder.

“What profession would you not like to do?” she asks.

He mumbles something she cannot hear.

“Pardon? What was that?”

He sighs. “I said, airline captain.”

She asks him why he wouldn’t want to climb the ranks and be in charge. He explains that it’s not where his aspirations lie. He loves flying but he wants kids and once he has them, he would either want to stay home with them full-time or have a more ‘normal’ 9-5 job instead.

“Maybe I’d coach hockey or CanSkate? Go back home and take over the rink from my mom and aunt? I don’t think I could stay up in the sky forever, to be honest I’m not totally sure why I’m here now. But I’m glad I _am_ here now, with you.”

The heavy silence that follows is broken only by Air Traffic Control giving them a take-off slot.

**

They hit a goose almost immediately after take-off.

Alarms blare in the cockpit as he shuts off the fuel to the destroyed engine and activates the fire extinguishers.

Her voice remains calm as she sends their mayday call back to Air Traffic Control, but her eyes deceive her, her fear and panic clear to him.

He retains the controls; he lifted this thing off the ground with 154 people safely on-board and he’s going to land it that way too.

**

He can hear muted applause coming from the cabin as the wheels finally touch down in Toronto, many hours later than originally planned. He breathes a sigh of relief and looks over at her, finding she’s looking at him with such pride and admiration that he feels himself start to blush.

When they finally get their new plane on stand and the engines are switched off she audibly exhales and slumps down in her seat. He leans over to pat her on the knee, proud of a job well done. She places her hand on top of his and turns to him.Their eyes meet and she smiles softly at him, and he looks down, his own smile shy, cautious. She squeezes his hand and he looks up right as she leans in and brushes her lips against his, both of them sighing into the kiss after a second, his hands coming up to cup her face gently.

They break apart only when a member of the crew knocks on the door to the cockpit, and they stand quickly to help bid farewell to their passengers.

Once the plane is empty and ready to be handed over to the ground crew they don their jackets, his hands brushing over the four stripes on her epaulets as he helps her adjust her collar. She reaches up to place his hat on his head.

“For the record,” she whispers into his ear, “I think you would make a great captain.”

He grins shyly and she lifts up on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth before they turn and exit the plane hand in hand.

 

~§~

 

_Two and a Half Years Later_

She grips his hand on the armrest as the engines start to rev and the plane begins hurtling forwards.

“You okay?” he asks, unable to move his fingers, such is the intensity of her grip.

“I hate flying,” she says, voice squeaky, her fear evident.

He bursts out laughing, causing her to jump and begin to turn and glare at him, only for her to plaster herself back into her seat as the plan begins to pitch upwards towards the sky. This perhaps explains her desire to fly premium rather than business, so that he would be right next to her so she could grab onto him. Once they reach cruising altitude they are both nursing pins and needles in their hands.

She doses off with her head on his shoulder, and he turns on his entertainment system to watch the short guide to their destination. They decided on Hawaii because they both wanted sunshine and neither had been before, having never flown there in their careers so far.

Rest and relaxation are on the cards, and maybe some making out on the beach too. He can’t wait, it’s been so long since they were able to take a vacation together. He should bear this in mind next time they need to arrange one. He closes his eyes and thinks of warm sunshine and soft lips.

**

“I can’t wait to get back in the cockpit and behind the controls,” she sighs, wistfully, gazing out the window at the fine wisps of cloud in the otherwise gloriously blue sky. This is her favourite part of being a pilot, that feeling of being somewhere else entirely, where everything above and around her is perfectly clear and bright as far as the eye can see, especially when it’s cold and wet back on the ground.

He rubs her arm with a soft smile on his face.

“All in good time, eh?”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” she acquiesces, looking down with a smile of her own on her lips as she lightly dances her fingers along her bump. “He’s kicking up a storm in there,” she says, looking up at Scott, who is watching her with a look of contentment and wonder in his eyes.

“Maybe he’s destined to spend his life in the skies too, huh?” he says, lacing his fingers with hers, bringing their hands to rest near the buckle of the seat belt extender, which moves as their unborn son nudges it away with his foot.

“What do you think, bud? Are you going to fly high in the sunlit silence, put out your hand and touch the face of god?” he asks, moving his thumb against her green sundress.

“I don’t think that’s quite how the poem goes, love,” she giggles, ruffling his hair as he bows his head to place a kiss on her stomach.

 

~§§§~

**Author's Note:**

> The poem referenced at the beginning and by Scott when he’s talking to his unborn son is High Flight by John Gillespie Magee Jr.
> 
> There may be a little more of this to come. I have an idea for a very small follow up, which might be a backup option for throwback week.


End file.
